“My day began not till the twilight fell And lo! in ether from heaven’s sweetest well The new moon swam, divinely isolate In maiden silence, she that makes my fate Haply not knowing it, or only so As I the secrets of my sheep may know.” In Lanier’s rich and melodious “Hymns of the Marshes” there are innumerable touches in the style of Keats; for example, his apostrophe to the “Reverend marsh, low-couched along the sea, Old chemist, wrapped in alchemy, Distilling silence,——” or his praise of the “Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon-day fire, Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire, Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves.” One of the finest pieces of elegiac verse that have yet been produced in America, George E. Woodberry’s poem called “The North Shore Watch,” has many passages that recall the young poet who wrote “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Indeed, we hear the very spirit of Endymion speaking in Woodberry’s lines: “Beauty abides, nor suffers mortal change, Eternal refuge of the orphaned mind.” Father John B. Tabb, who had the exquisite art of the Greek epigram at his command, in one of his delicately finished little poems, imagined Sappho listening to the “Ode to a Nightingale”: “Methinks when first the nightingale Was mated to thy deathless song, That Sappho with emotion pale Amid the Olympian throng, Again, as in the Lesbian grove, Stood listening with lips apart, To hear in thy melodious love The pantings of her heart.” Yes; the memory and influence of Keats endure, and will endure, because his poetry expresses something in the heart that will not die so long as there are young men and maidens to see and feel the beauty of the world and the thrill of love. His poetry is complete, it is true, it is justified, because it is the fitting utterance of one of those periods of mental life which Keats himself has called “the human seasons.”